Possessions of Mother
by Aijou829
Summary: When people leave this earth they do it alone. Their possessions do not disappear once they have gone but remain, remain as they were. These things, these owner-less possessions, create a doorway into the essence of a person. Their scent, their ideas, t


**Possessions of Mother**

**If there is a reason, I don't know what it is but I was curious as to what attracts Ichigo to the work of the great William Shakespeare. I have a few ideas why but upon pondering the subject an image came to mind. From this image I visualized a story was developed and form this story I made up a reason. **

**Story:**

**When people leave this earth they do it alone. Their possessions do not disappear once they have gone but remain remain as they were. These things, these owner-less possessions, create a doorway into the essence of a person. Their scent, their ideas, their taste...are all reflected in their possessions.**

**Disclaimer: Yes.**

It was a peculiar sight to see a boy of his age sitting so quietly, so still. True, it was raining, and most children become lackluster when it pours but even they become restless and make commotion after sometime. This child by consequence had faced a rather tragic occurrence recently and since that moment had done little other than scowl. His eyes glowed with a burning passion and in his heart he had no one to blame but himself.

Nothing could settle the pain of his loss. Nothing could deter the emptiness created by her absence. With out her, there was nothing.

One night while walking back to bed from a late night trip to the bathroom, a curious thing happened. From the corner of his eye he perceived an unexpected movement and froze on the spot. His reaction initially being fear, since he was but a child and it was the dead of night was soon replaced by curiosity. By chance the door to his parent's room had been left open and he had caught sight off a curtain wafting in the breeze. It was not a new location to him for he had been there before, but not since the incident.

He relaxed and faced the entrance before him. Earlier he had witnessed his father asleep at the desk in the small clinic attached to their home so he knew the room would be vacant. With this in mind, he made up his resolve to go in. His steps were slow and careful as he move forward. He ignored the light switch and made steadily toward the lamp on the nightstand by the side of the bed. His mother's side of the bed. With a trembling hand held before him, he took two more steps toward the lamp and started upon hearing the creak of a floorboard. Taking a deep breath to calm himself again he outstretched his hand once more.

In an instant the room was bathed in a warm amber glow. Taking in his surroundings he nearly began to weep in disappointment. He had not known what he expected to find, or what he had hoped for but with the light he realized what he had known before entering. It was _empty._

He did not bother to twist the switch but simply turned and faced the door. Before his foot had hit the floor a third time, he caught sight of something else. To his left he saw but one thing. His reflection, an image he could hardly acquaint himself with anymore. In the mirror of his mother's vanity, tilted down slightly at an angle that revealed him top to bottom, was a boy.

Blue footed pajamas spotted with the image of a popular TV hero, with a hole revealing his left big toe. Slumped shoulders that barely managed to carry the wight of his scrawny yet limp arms. A mouth twisted downward harshly. Brown eyes ablaze with torture beyond his young age. A brow creased prematurely from his perpetual grimace. On top of it all a shock of bright orange hair, messy and wild, sat upon his head. It was the flash of orange in the mirror which had caught his attention.

Tearing his gaze from the unhappy image he began to consider the contents of the table top. He moved closer ti examine the trinkets, perfumes, and baubles which littered the surface. He took a moment to marvel at the things that his mother had treasured there. A memory of her once reprimanding him stuck his thoughts, though her voice had been soft and a smile never left her face.

"_Now Ichigo-chan, these are my precious things. You mustn't touch and fuss with them or they might be broken or lost. Do you want to know a secret?...You are my most precious thing of all."_

He moved away then. Even without her there he would not go against her wishes. Noticing the door beside him he walked into her closet. It was not large, but then neither was he. Hung about him were an assortment of dresses. Each one he could remember her wearing at one time or another. He grabbed the one closest to him and pulled it to his face. With his eyes closed tightly he breathed in her scent as thought it would be his last breath. His mind flooded with memories of her...

"_Ichigo-chan! Come lick the spoon!"_

"_Goodnight my little guardian..."_

"_Look at the fireworks Ichigo-chan! Aren't they amazing?"_

"_Here, Like this: Make two rabbit ears, then..."_

"_Happy Birthday Ichigo-chan."_

"_Ready or not! Here I come!"_

"_Ichigo-chan, hurry and dress. We don't want to be late for Karate practice."_

"_An then Papa bear said..."_

Bombarded with images of a bright smile and laughter that sounded like the ringing of bells as well as warm arms that soothed and comforted rampaged through his mind. A tear soaked into the dress and he pressed his face closer. The movement caused something to topple over and he heard the dull thud as it hit the floor. Removing the dress from his face he squinted into the dim light and bent to see what it was.

A book rested by his feet and he bent to pick it up. It had fallen from it's place perched atop an over flowing box of books crammed into the corner of the closet. The spines were cracked and on some completely fallen off as though they were too well loved. Moving out into the room again he climbed up onto the bed to get closer to the light. He opened the cover and his curiosity was peaked upon noticing something scribbled inside. He knew it was not good to write in books. His teachers had told him so.

"Property of Masaki" it read. A little heart drawn beside the name.

This book had belonged to his mother. Flipping further he realized that most of the pages had some kind of writing or another scratched onto them. He began to read these scribbles and noted that they were all in the same hand writing. He concluded that they must have been written by his mother and seemed to be a journal of sorts, reflecting her ideas on the story and its characters.

To him they did not make much sense since he was not familiar with it. Turning back to the first page, he started to read the story and along with it the notes his mother had left behind. It was difficult to read because most of what was said didn't make any sense. It made him think that the writer must not have been a very good one because even he knew the grammar was bad and he was just a kid. There were also a lot of words he had never heard before but he kept reading.

When he finished one book he would hop of the bed and run to get another and then jump back on to curl up in the blankets there to read. He continued this method until well into the night when against his will, his eyelids could no longer stay uplifted.

The next morning the sun came through a window and pestered the face of a weary man with a gruff beard upon his chin. He rose and stretched his spine which had suffered from his decision to sleep at his desk. Deciding that facing the day ahead would come with or with out his consent, he thought it best to go clean up. He headed toward his room for a fresh change of clothes but paused in the door way to ponder a curious scene. A sad smile pulled at his lips.

Before him a lamp shown down upon a large bed where a small boy lay. Surrounding him were a collection of books he had seen long ago. He moved forward to take the book from the hands of his son and almost chuckled at the scowl and how out of placed it looked beneath his wild orange hair. He lifted a blanket and tucked it snugly about his sleeping child and regarded the book in his hands.

He read the cover aloud to himself. "William Shakespeare's Hamlet...Hmm."

**I love Ichigo's dad. He reminds me of my dad only my dad's not a soul reaper...or is he? Hmmmm...**

**Comment. Review.  
**

**Best,**  
**Aijou **


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